


Somewhere to belong

by rivendellelve



Series: Young Outlaw [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur Whump, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Self-Harm, Young Arthur Morgan, Young Dutch van der Linde, young hosea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-06-22 12:11:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19667596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivendellelve/pseuds/rivendellelve
Summary: The story of how Arthur joined the gang. Or how he got into more trouble than he could handle because the world has always had it out for him





	1. Alone

Arthur was eleven when his world ended. The rope going taut, the crowd jeering, his father's body jerking and then hanging lifelessly in the air. He just stood there, unmoving and deaf to the world, not quite comprehending the scene before his eyes.

Everything he had ever had gone with a snap and applause as if the end of life as he knew it meant nothing but the five minutes entertainment during a public execution.

All he had left now was a small knife, duller even than a spoon, an odd looking rock he had picked up years ago - sometimes he liked to pretend it was actually secretly valuable and one day he would trade it place to call his own – and a photograph of his mother. The photograph he had saved from one of his fathers drunken rages, his father thankfully never asking about its whereabouts.

His vision was blurring with tears. Wiping his eyes pulled at the fresh bruise decorating his cheek – courtesy of a lawman who felt Arthur didn't move out of the way fast enough when they came to arrest his dad. He felt stupid crying over a man who had never shown Arthur any kindness but he still couldn't help but love his. He had no one else.

A hand landed on his shoulder and Arthur jerked, turning around, arms held protectively in front of his chest.

“What'cha still standing around fer? Show's over.” A man glared at him disapprovingly, brows furrowed as if Arthur's very existence had insulted him on a personal level. That's when Arthur noticed the uniform. The same uniform that had killed his father. Blind panic gripped him, suffocating any rational thought.

They were coming for him. They knew he was his father's accomplice and now they were coming for him. He ran.

* * *

“'Scuse me, mister, could you spare some coins?”

“'Scuse me, mister.”

“Just something to eat, ma'am?”

“Please.”

No one listened. No one cared. You're lucky I even bother, his father had told him. Ain't no one else gonna waste money on a useless brat. Arthur knew this, knew there was no point in asking, no point in hoping for someone to help but still. He was so hungry.

The last time it had been this bad was a particularly harsh winter after his mother had died. His father had been in an exceptionally foul mood, choosing to drink what money he had, leaving Arthur with their dwindling stack of supplies, until at last the only thing left had been a single jar of salted innards of questionable origins. It had tasted like vomit and left him nauseous for the rest of the day. He'd give anything for a jar like that now.

He gave up on begging for food, hopeless endeavor that it was and decided to search the trash behind the saloon once more, hoping for anything really.

* * *

Folded up in a corner, a tight little ball people were walking past without a second glance, Arthur watched them pass. Right across from him a man was carrying a crate of apples. Arthur stared at them unblinking, as if he could make one fall and roll his way by sheer force of will.

Of course it didn't work. The man disappeared into a doorway, taking the currently most important object in Arthur's universe, the crate of delicious, juicy apples, with him, returning without it and pulling the door closed behind – he didn't. He left it ajar. The door was still open and Arthur was maybe dumb, maybe desperate and definitely hungry enough to sneak in. He had to.

Swift as a mouse he darted across the street, through the open door and into the unknown.

He was certain the sound of his heartbeat would betray him, his breathing seeming to echo through the empty hallway, every floorboard posing the threat of creaking and announcing the intruder to the world. Heart in his throat he crept forward silently begging the wood beneath his feet to stay quiet, praying for the house to be empty, and peeked around the corner through an open door.

It was the most impressive kitchen he had ever seen but its sight was nothing compared to the sight of the crate right there on the table. Waiting for him. Forgetting everything but the promise of food he rushed over and stuffed as many apples as he could into his satchel, almost dropping some in his fumbling haste, and when he could not fit any more he began collecting them in his shirt.

A sudden hand on his collar yanked him backwards, sending apples flying from his grasp, rolling across the floor. A towering man loomed over him, still holding on to his collar.

“You little rat! Think you can come in an' steal from me?” He shook Arthur violently. “I'll teach you a lesson!”

He backhanded Arthur hard enough to send the boy crashing into kitchen counter, its edge digging painfully into his side, before crumbling to the ground. Muscle memory kicking in he curled himself into a tight ball, trying to protect himself as best as he could, apologizing and begging for forgiveness but the man was having none of it.

Arthur was being hoisted to his feet by a rough hand against his neck, uncomfortably high and then pressed against the counter, unable to look at the man behind him. His pleading, frantic and barely intelligible at this point, abruptly cut off by a cry of pain when wood hit his back. Unable to do anything but endure, the same way it had always been in this cold and cruel world, Arthur nevertheless squirmed and cried until he was too exhausted and his throat was raw.

When it was over the man threw Arthur out into the street lack a broken and unwanted doll.

“Be grateful I didn't call the law. Next time I won't be so forgiving.”

The worlds barely registered. His shirt was ripped and sticking to his back, every breath creating waves of agony, white hot and angry. It was his own fault. He had been too greedy, too careless. He should have learned his lesson when his father had caught him stealing food from their supplies. He had not been able see out of one eye for a week afterward but of course he had learned nothing.

He was still stupid and greedy and hungry, except now no one cared whether he lived or died. Certainly not the stranger he had robbed. At least with his father he would've had a place to stay.

Like a fist to the gut the realization how utterly exposed he was lying in the middle of the street hit Arthur. Crawling one hand over the other, trying to breathe through the pain, Arthur made his way back to the alley where hopefully he would be hidden from the cruelty of the world.

Sweat on his back was stinging in the wounds and his pained gasps pulled at the abused skin, the exhaustion and pain already making spots dance before his eyes.

Finally making it to a water barrel Arthur collapsed on his side, shaking and weak, curling in on himself, hoping to disappear, his entire world reduced to pulsating agony.

Shifting in the futile attempt to find a position that hurt less the unfamiliar weight at his side made Arthur pause. Trembling fingers probing his satchel he pulled out an apple. The man had been so blinded with anger, he never thought to check. Or maybe he cared more about brutalizing a child than about the food.

His head pounding and vision blurry with tears Arthur ate.


	2. Stray

“Get back here, you miserable street rat!”

Dodging the grabbing hands Arthur darted around the corner, through a broken fence, across the busy street between the rolling wagons of traders and workers and turned another corner before slowing to a trot. He tore the loaf of bread in two, one half for now, the rest for later.

Over the last two and a half years he had gotten better at stealing. After that first, disastrous attempt he learned. He had learned and bled and fought and survived. He knew most of his town. He knew every nook and cranny in the poor district, including the best places to sleep, and he knew enough to get around in the other quarters. Safe for the rich district, perhaps.

He wasn't dumb enough to try anything there. The rich folks wouldn't forget about him and the law would come after him for being 'a menace to society'. That's what they said about the man who had been dumb enough to steal from them and was hanged not a week later.

Spotting another street urchin Arthur changed direction immediately. The boy was bigger than him, meaning he would have no problem overpowering Arthur and taking whatever he wanted. Arthur had learned that particular lesson in his first week. He had also learned that if someone was suggesting to partner up, it meant they were either going to rob him or they were going to run off without Arthur getting his share.

The latter had hurt more than Arthur cared to admit. For brief period Arthur had honestly believed he had found a friend. Except friends didn't disappear with your entire food stash and the few coins you had managed to collect.

Arthur still had cried when they found Jimmy frozen to death last winter. He was the only one who cared though. Everyone else was glad the streets were a bit cleaner with one less orphan there to cause trouble.

The mayor had made a public speech about compassion and helping the poor and Arthur had wanted nothing more than to hurl rocks at his lying face. Bastard was the same who recently had promised to rid the streets of those dirty and thieving strays that were becoming more and more of a problem for their beautiful and flourishing town. His words.

For two weeks lawmen had come through the poor district and either arrested anyone looking dirty and destitute or just beaten them to a bloody pulp. Presumably to discourage them from being poor. They had almost gotten him, too. One had managed to grip his collar, already pulling Arthur back and only slipping out of his jacket had saved him.

Sacrificing his jacket had saved his life and yet it also might just kill him after all. Fall was already discoloring the leaves and most nights winter was already reaching out with icy fingers, the wind turning biting every so often. Arthur's shirt wasn't going to protect him.

He would have to think of something soon.

Passing by the town's inn Arthur saw the most beautiful sight he could've hoped for. The telltale sign of a group of travelers getting ready to leave town. Ducking into an alley, leaning against the wall in what would hopefully pass as casual, he stood and watched. A large group like that was bound to have parcels of spare clothing. Probably – hopefully – in the back of a wagon no one was paying any attention to.

He could simply trail after them, wait until they passed through one of the less appealing parts of town, where nobody cared if folks got robbed or worse, and then slip and out before anyone realized he was there. And even if they did, he knew this town, unlike them, and was confident he could slip away and disappear if he had to.

By the time they noticed anything missing they'd probably be half a day away at least. No point in turning back for a piece of clothing. Also there was no chance of walking down the street and being attacked from behind because someone recognized what he was wearing. That had earned him bruised ribs and a sprained wrist.

The folks he was watching were almost ready to leave it seemed.

Arthur tensed. Something was off. Pressing further back into the wall he looked around. He might not be the smartest or fastest but he was good at detecting danger and right now he was on high alert.

Two men were standing near the saloon's hitching post, watching him with interest. They were far away enough so that they probably didn't belong to the others but that didn't mean they would leave him alone.

Scowling at the possibility of losing his best chance to secure a new set of clothes before winter he retreated further back into the alley, determined to pick up his preys trail again, away from prying eyes.

Taking shortcuts through some backyards, dodging around piles of manure he trotted up to the abandoned building located near the edge of town and slipped in, only briefly hesitating at the threshold. This time of day it should be empty. It was only after dark that it hosted all kinds of illegal gatherings.

It was probably the worst kept secret of the entire town, at least the parts Arthur had access to, but then again rumor had it, a few generous donations could go a long way when it came to being friends with the people in charge.

Arthur didn't particularly care beyond the fact that the roof provided a good vantage point. He actually liked the view, one of the few places where he could actually see the horizon in this place. Lying on his belly he kept an eye on the street while still listening for the telltale sounds of people moving downstairs in case the house was not as abandoned as it should be.

Unless he had completely miscalculated, the group would need to come through here. With their wagons they'd want to stay on the main road, that left only two possible exits and they had not been facing south while he had been there.

Just when he began second guessing his choice he saw them. Two wagons accompanied by four riders. His stomach dropped and he swallowed. Picking a drunkard's pocket or snatching a loaf of bread from the baker was one thing. Getting onto a wagon and stealing from a big group like this was another thing.

Wind blew across the roof, playing with strands of Arthur's hair and he shivered. Making up his mind, he climbed down and left the decrepit building. He could handle his uneasiness. He could not handle freezing to death.

Arthur jogged through the overgrown yard and then hid behind a corner, once again small and invisible. His palms were getting sweaty, his mouth felt completely dry and he couldn't decide whether he just wanting everything over and done or wishing for time to slow so he could stay hidden just a little bit longer. If only they didn't have the riders with them. There was no way he could outrun a horse.

For once the world took pity on him and Arthur nearly sagged in relief when he saw back of the last wagon was unguarded. Pushing down the lingering anxiety he crept up to the group, careful to remain out of their sight and sidled up to what was hopefully the hiding place of a warm set of clothes. Or failing that, a stash of money.

Climbing up on the wagon, light as a feather, he reached for the tarp that covered the back, his hands closing on the fabric when suddenly, a rope was around him, pressing his arms to his sides and abruptly pulling him back off the wagon and onto the ground.

Rolling on his side Arthur struggled to get to his feet, his arms still pinned to his body, when hands grabbed him and pulled him up. Not wasting time on half-formed words or excuses Arthur kicked out, hitting the man holding him right in the shin and managing to pull out of his grasp when the man loosened his hold.

He sprang away from his captor only to be stopped again by a hand on his collar, half turning around to see the butt end of someone's gun flying toward his head before everything went dark.

* * *

“You think we got enough provisions for the road?”

“We could feed a pack of wolves if you ask me.”

“If they eat us sure.” His companion chuckled. “But I suppose there should be enough game in these woods if we need more. Unless you have a better _plan.”_ The last word said with just enough emphasis to convey a mix of eighty percent I'm-just-teasing-and-not-actually-mad-about-the-mess-you-made and twenty percent But-I'm-still-going-to-milk-it-for-what-it's-worth.

When his partner failed to react, he turned away from his horse with a furrowed brow, muscles already in anticipation of trouble.

“Dutch?” He ventured.

“Look over there.”, Dutch gestured. “See that kid?”

Hosea's eyes followed the outstretched hand. There was a boy, a little ways away, leaning against a wall. His stance suggested casual nothing-see-here-move-along disinterest but he was far too tense to pull it of, his shoulders hunched when they should be loose and his eyes too focused.

“I think he's scoping out potential targets.” Dutch said with amusement. “Probably looking for easy pickings.”

Hosea found himself agreeing. “Looks like it.” He wondered where the kid's parents were. The ill-fitting clothes and wild hair didn't exactly speak of a loving home.

“His vantage point is good but his posture is giving everything away.”

His friend sounded a lot like he was moments away from going up to the boy and giving him pointers.

As if he had heard them the kid suddenly looked right at them, scowling before disappearing.

“I think we spooked him.” Dutch said with amusement, turning back and mounting his horse, Hosea following suit.

“Let's go. I'd rather leave this unpleasant town as soon as possible.”


	3. Caught

The first thing Arthur became aware of was a painful throbbing that seemed to reverberate through his entire body, starting from somewhere between his eyes and then setting his shoulders aflame. Arthur moaned weakly. Actually his shoulders were a lot worse than his head.

Prying his eyes open he flinched at the light filtering in, the sudden movement intensifying the pain in his shoulders and he realized his hands were bound behind his back, tied to something he couldn't see.

Lifting his head from the dirty wood he was lying on and blinking tears away he finally got a good look at his surroundings. He was inside a wagon. And he was not alone. There were other children and teenagers here, many he recognized, all of them tied and gagged and locked in cages.

Panic started clawing at his chest, like a caged animal. He tried to get up, pulling his feet close and pushing his back against the metal behind him, but the rope around his wrist pulled him back, not giving him enough room to do more than sit in an awkward position that left him off balance. Falling back against the cage he was tied to, he winced when a sharp edge dug into his arm.

Angling his body despite his shoulders' screaming protest Arthur turned back as far as he could and froze. There was someone behind him. He was tied to another cage and there was another boy inside. Only he didn't move.

A wave of nausea crashed over him, threatening to drown him and Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, breathing small panicked gasps and trying not to throw up. This was bad. Real bad. He tore at his restraints, ignoring the pain, desperate for a way out, crying out when the sharp edge cut into his skin deep enough to draw blood.

The sound of voices made him freeze up immediately, going completely still. Holding his breath he listened, barely hearing anything over the sound of his rapidly beating heart and the blood rushing in his ears. Someone was coming.

Planting his feet again Arthur pushed himself of the ground once more, keeping his back firmly against the metal to keep from falling over and pulling his bound wrists up on the cage's bar. Just when he thought he made it, the rope caught on something, sending Arthur's crashing to the ground, face pressed into the ground and arms still forcefully held above in a way that felt like they were about to be ripped out.

The tarp was thrown back, the sudden light forcing him to squint. Too late he thought of pretending to sleep.

“Finally awake, are we?” A man stopped in front of Arthur, smiling down on him unpleasantly. With one hand on his wrists and the other on his chest he pulled Arthur into a sitting position, completely ignoring the boy's pained gasp and squatting down to his level.

“That's better, ain't it?”

When Arthur refused to answer a hand gripped his jaw, forcing him to meet the man's eyes.

“What do you say, when someone helps you?” The man snarled.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. He knew this would end badly but anger was better than fear. “Screw you.”

The man parted his lips in an insincere imitation of a smile before driving his fist into Arthur's stomach and pulling the boy upright by his hair when he doubled over, slamming his head against the cage.

“Watch your tongue or I'll watch it for you”, he growled.

Nauseous and in pain Arthur glared at the man trying to sound braver than he felt. “What do you want?”, he spat.

“A little gratitude would be nice.” The man shrugged. “When my partners and I got called in to help with a vermin infestation we decided to be nice and actually go to the trouble of catching all you filthy strays alive.”

He looked at Arthur as if he expected him to say something. When he didn't, the man let go of his hair, hand closing around Arthur's throat instead, not actually choking him but applying enough pressure to make it known that that was very much an option.

“And we're even going to take you to a place where they will teach you to work instead of relying society to feed you and you don't even thank us.”, he continued sweetly.

“I ain't relying on nobody.” Arthur almost shouted, anger making him reckless again.

The pressure on his throat increased, cutting of Arthur's air supply.

“Really? Then what do you for a living?”, the man sneered. “Tell me, do you have any useful skills? Anything at all?”

Even if he had been able to speak, Arthur didn't think he would've had an answer. His father had never taught him anything. And no one else had ever bothered to either.

“That's what I thought.” He let go.

Coughing and gasping for breath Arthur tried to push away from the man, hating the tears forming in his eyes. The hand was on his jaw again, this time not just holding but prying his mouth open with bruising force and pushing a gag inside, tying it behind his head, the knot painfully catching strands of hair.

The man petted his head. “Now be a good little orphan and stay quiet 'til we get there.”

He left. Arthur wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. Instead he let his head fall back and blinked against the tears. He hated this. Hated being helpless. When the ground beneath him started rumbling his desperation only grew. Soon he'd be far away from everything he knew.

His heart sank. Maybe he already was. There was no way they'd stayed in the same spot after knocking him out. Not that anyone who saw would've cared but they had been on the move when they got him. They would've had had no reason to linger.

He began tugging at his restraints in earnest, no longer caring about the pain in his shoulders or the rope biting into his skin. Brushing against the serrated edge again an idea struck him. Using his bound hands to feel what he couldn't see, he maneuvered his wrists as close as he could toward the sharp metal before slowly dragging the rope over it, wincing when he also managed to cut into his skin.

He thought he felt the outer layer of rope fray. Fanning the flames of anger against the urge to curl up and cry he repeated the action. He bit down on the gag. He couldn't risk making a sound and someone finding out what he was doing.

There was a grim satisfaction to be found in using their gag to his advantage though it was quickly squashed when the metal bit his wrist again, the cut stinging. He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath before dragging his wrist across the edge again.

They might have caught him but he'd be damned if they kept him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really wanted to post this sooner but real life was like 'nah, ain't gonna happen'  
> also I changed the number of chapters bc apparently I can't be trusted to count to five :D


	4. Lost

When the rope finally gave he almost kept going. Instead he looked at his now free hands. They were shaking. And covered in blood. It didn't feel like they were his hands. The memory of that splitting headache, the painfully twisted shoulders and the burning cuts all over his hands and wrists and arms seemed all very far away.

They must have happened to some over boy who had the misfortune of being captured. A thought slowly trickled down into his consciousness, a vague recollection of wanting to flee. He wasn't sure why but saw no reason to stay either.

Bloody hands grabbing the fabric that covered his mouth he tore the gag off and then got to his feet, swaying slightly. He padded over to the opening, the sight a bag catching his attention. It seemed familiar so he bent down to pick it up, almost falling over in the process but catching himself on the wall, leaving a bloody hand print in the process.

It was quiet outside. He liked quiet. Half climbing, half falling he stumbled out of the wagon into the fresh air, the wind picking up and blowing through him.

Arthur shivered. He looked around, suddenly everything that had seemed so far away thrown into focus again, leaving him weak and shaking and terrified. He ducked low, casting a nervous glance around. There was a lone man sitting close to a fire, luckily with his back towards Arthur.

He was the only other person he could see. The wagons were arranged in a loose circle, a few tents set up. Closest to the wagon Arthur was crouching by was a line of trees, behind it a forest. To the other side there were nothing but open fields. From the looks of it the sun was on its way down, though it was hard to tell with dark clouds covering the sky. If he managed to stay undetected until nighttime they probably wouldn't bother looking for him.

Glancing back at the man one more time Arthur crept towards the forest. He fought the urge to break into a run, afraid the noise would attract unwanted attention. Putting one foot in front of the other his gaze kept darting from one side to the other, heart hammering in his chest.

A dry branch cracked beneath his foot and Arthur's heart stopped. His eyes strained to catch any movement but everything was quiet still. He breathed out a sigh of relief, a hand pressed against his chest, leaving a red stain. He moved forward again.

He'd almost made it when the shouting started. Fear lending him unexpected strength he leapt forward abandoning all stealth and ran into the woods, branches tearing at his clothes, hitting him, roots trying to trip him and the carpet of leaves making him slip but the terror chasing after him propelled him forward.

Suddenly his foot hit air, where he expected solid ground to be, a rabbit hole making him stumble and fall. He barely caught himself, crying out when his arms hit the uneven ground but pushing himself up again immediately, pulling his legs close and springing to his feet again despite various parts of his body protesting.

He had barely taken two steps when a weight slammed into his back, a hand burying itself in his hair.

“Thought you could get away, did you? I'll make you regret that!” a man growled above him.

The words made Arthur's blood run cold, his father's voice echoing the words from memories long buried. Blind panic overtook him, drowning out any rational thought, made him struggle even as he was hoisted to his feet by a rough hand around his neck.

Thrashing and twisting Arthur pulled on his captor's hands and, when that didn't work, rammed his elbow into the man's jaw, rewarded by a howl of pain as he was dropped to the ground. Landing on his foot awkwardly, the same one that had been caught in the rabbit hole, Arthur yelped at the unexpected burst of pain, falling to the ground.

Unthinking a rolled onto his back and kicked out, hitting the man's knee and making him take a stumbling step back, where he lost his balance and fell, hitting his head on a tree on the way down. He didn't get back up again, neck bent at an odd angle.

Arthur felt sick. Struggling to his feet, his right one throbbing painfully, he stared at the man. He couldn't hear anything over the rushing in his ears, he felt as if the world was spinning. He threw up.

Memories of what his father had done to him after he had dared fight back reared their ugly head and he ran, the image of the unmoving stranger burnt into his mind.

He kept going until exhaustion had him stumbling over his own feet. Finally giving in Arthur stayed where he had fallen, only gingerly rolling onto his side and curling up against the cold wind.

* * *

Drifting back into consciousness Arthur almost believed he was back home, or at least the place he had stayed the longest in his short life. But the sounds were wrong. There were no horse carriages rattling through the streets, no early workers yelling, no clattering and banging of windows being thrown open.

Instead there were only a few birds, rustling leaves and the pitter patter of rain. Arthur opened his eyes and groaned. His muscles ached, his wrists throbbed in time with his heartbeat, his shoulders still hated him and his right ankle felt swollen. He really wanted to go back to sleep.

The rain was cold enough that Arthur pulled himself up and hobbled over to the nearest tree, flattening himself against it, willing it to shield him form the rain, fully aware that it wasn't. Shivering he rubbed his hands along his arms, flinching when the friction pulled at the scab. Hugging himself tight he looked around.

In the dark of night everything looked different. Not that he had payed much attention to where he was going when he came crashing through. And even if he could figure out where he had come from, he wouldn't know what to do with that information anyway.

He couldn't risk running into those men again. They'd kill him. But he couldn't just disappear into the wilderness either. Without weapons sooner or later a wild animal would kill him. Or if he managed to evade those, then starvation would. If he didn't die of exposure that is. He never got that damn jacket.

No, he had to get back to civilization. Picking the direction where the trees stood further apart he limped forward, occasionally wiping rain out of his eyes.

He found his rhythm after a while. One stumbling step after the other. Head held low, not paying attention to the world beyond what was right in front of his feet. He barely noticed when the rain stopped. Not that it mattered because the cold had already sucked any warmth he had left out of his very bones.

Only when his feet where suddenly on even ground he became aware of his surroundings once more. He was standing in the middle of a road in the middle of a road. Ahead of him nothing but wide open grassland, to his left a lone and winding dirt road that hugged close to the forest, to his right – to his right there were shadowy figures, clearly visible in the pale moonlight. Riders.

Hope rising in his chest he turned toward them. Even if they wouldn't help him – and why should they, he had nothing to offer – they would know the way to the next town. He could make it, he would make, he –

A terrible crashing sound behind him spun him around, viciously killing the small spark of hope he had just allowed himself to feel when he saw a man on horseback coming out of the trees, his face contorted with murderous rage. He hadn't lost his pursuers after all.

Turning on his heel Arthur ran as fast as he could, his right leg threatening to give out but he before he could get far a lasso descended on him, tightening around his neck like a noose and jerking him backwards onto the cold ground.

Lying on his back his hands flew towards his throat. He tried to loosen the lasso, to get some air but suddenly there was a horse next to him. The man jumped down, kicking Arthur's side before planting a knee on Arthur's belly. He grabbed his wrists with one hand, forcing them above his head, while pulling out a knife with the other hand.

“I'm going to carve you up like a turkey!”, he roared, raising the knife. “You'll pay for what you did!”

A shot, sudden and deafening, rang through the air. Arthur watched in horror as the man's eyes widened, a look of disbelief shivering across his face when he looked down at the bloodstain spreading over his chest before toppling over, landing half on top of Arthur, half on the ground.

He didn't move and neither did Arthur, frozen in place.

“Jesus kid, are you alright?” A man appeared in his line of sight, shoving the dead body off of Arthur. He didn't dare move.

“Kid?”

It was only when a hand touched his shoulder that Arthur jumped, rolling to his feet and stumbling away, tripping over the rope still wound around his neck.

“Whoa, easy son. We won't hurt you.” The man crouched in front of Arthur, hands held up. “My name's Hosea and this-”, his head tilted toward another man standing further back but also holding out empty hands to show he was unarmed, “this is my friend Dutch.”

Arthur's eyes settled back on the one closer to him, the more immediate threat.

“What's your name?”, the man continued.

Arthur's muscles tensed. He took a step back, dragging the rope along, hoping his ankle would support his weight long enough to get out of this.

The men's eyes followed him but they stayed.

“Why don't we get this lasso off of you”, the first one – Hosea – offered, voice deceptively calm. “Doesn't look very comfortable.”

Remembering how his arms worked and feeling like a fool for not doing so in the first place, Arthur tore at the rope, pulling it off and shoving it away violently as if it were poisonous. His leg almost gave out under him when the motion left him off-balance, forcing him to take another step to keep from falling over.

“You know, my friend and I were just thinking about stopping for the night. Getting a little fire going.” Arthur's eyes snapped back. When had he even taken them off of Hosea? “We were going to make dinner.”

At the thought of dinner his stomach twisted painfully. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten anything. But it was a trap. It had to be.

“Maybe you'd like to join us? It's hard to find good company out here.” Hosea prodded, when Arthur stayed silent.

The promise of food and warmth sounded like everything he wished for right now. He watched the one called Dutch walk away, transfixed by the way he started unloading the horses and setting up a makeshift camp, a little way off the road but close enough that Arthur could see a fire spark to life.

“Why?”, he whispered. He meant it to be threatening but the exhaustion had stolen his voice away.

“If you spent days on the road with only one person for company it'll get boring eventually.”

Arthur shook his head, ignoring how it made his world spin. “No why – why would you – I don't –“, his tongue refused to cooperate.

“Why would we help you?”, Hosea offered kindly. “Because we can.”

Arthur didn't understand. He knew people to be cruel just because they could or because it was fun or easy. He didn't think it worked the other way round.

“My friend has a saying”, Hosea continued. “We shoot people as need shooting, save people as need saving and feed people as need feeding.” He got up.

“What you do is up to you but I've always found the world looks nicer when one's stomach is full.”

With that he started toward the burning fire, only pausing to look over his shoulder at Arthur once more.

“You're welcome to join us.”

Arthur watched him leave, hesitating. He didn't understand these men. Why they would help him and offer to share their food. But he found he didn't really care. He was too tired to keep walking, too cold and too hungry. Even if they meant him harm, as long as he got something to eat and didn't have to keep running, then it didn't matter.

Making up his mind, Arthur followed Hosea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All ya'll comments are so nice :D


	5. Found

Hosea watched surreptitiously as the kid came closer while he helped Dutch prepare dinner. He made a show of putting out three plates – or more accurately two plates and a bowl because they only owned two plates. When the boy was close enough to be illuminated by their fire, Hosea had to force himself not to stare.

The kid was a mess. He sported a variety of cuts and bruises, most notable a layer of dried blood covering both of his wrists, his neck looked red where the lasso had caught him, it would probably turn a lovely shade of black and blue later, and he was favoring his right leg.

Exchanging a worried glance with Dutch he put another pot close to the fire. He'd need warm water to the clean the wounds. Reading his mind apparently Dutch handed him their medical supplies before sitting down next to the fire, pretending to be cooking and not actually watching the boy's every move.

Hosea risked another glance. The kid had stopped, didn't seem to dare coming closer. Sitting down with his back to Dutch and the fire, he gave the boy his best smile, trying to appear as nonthreatening as possible.

“You can sit with us”, he offered, careful to give the boy a choice. He could see him hesitating, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. He could also smell the stew – or what they liked to call stew given their lack of cooking expertise – Dutch was making. Using mostly canned goods and whatever else didn't take a lot of time to prepare. It should be done right about now.

Apparently the boy smelled it, too. He took a few tentative steps, his eyes fixed on Hosea and, when the latter only gave he an encouraging smile, he kept going. Limping past Hosea, definitely looked like he had hurt his ankle, he dropped down heavily on the opposite side of the campfire. The way he had squeezed his eyes shut, Hosea worried he might pass out but it seemed the boy only needed a moment.

Something prodded at his elbow. He turned to see Dutch holding out a bowl and plate, the bowl filled to the brim. Hosea took both and set the bowl down in front of the kid, moving slowly so as not to startle him.

“There you go”, he said, adding a spoon to the bowl. “But careful it's hot.”

The boy looked at both of them with wide eyes before grabbing the bowl, as if they might change their mind any second. Not knowing what to say and afraid a wrong word might sent the boy running, Hosea ate in silence. Dutch seemed to feel the same, both men staying quiet, watching the kid shovel food into his mouth.

When the boy was done eating, going so far as to lick the bowl clean, he looked ready fall asleep sitting, eyes already drooping. Hosea really wanted to let the poor kid rest. Really. But he had no idea what kind of injuries the kid was hiding and at the very least, he needed to treat the cuts on his arms and have a look at that ankle.

Fishing a clean rag and some bandages out of their supply bag and pulling the pot of warm water close, the small movements enough to draw the boy's attention, he turned the kid, letting him see, what he was holding.

“Would it be okay for me to take a look at your wrists?”, he asked, careful to keep his voice low and his posture relaxed.

The kid didn't move, staring at Hosea's hands before searching his face. Hosea let him. It wasn't outright rejection, that was good. He could wait.

Ever so slowly the boy unfolded enough to hold out his arms and Hosea breathed a sigh of relief.

“I'll be as careful as I can”, he promised. “Just tell me if it hurts.”

The boy didn't answer but Hosea swore he saw him nod ever so slightly. Kneeling before the kid he wet his rag before gingerly cleaning away the dried blood and dirt, taking care not to reopen the wounds. He took his time, only holding on to the arm loosely so that the kid had the option of pulling away whenever he wanted.

Whatever the hell had happened to the kid, he'd very much like a few minutes alone with the people responsible. Having cleaned both arms, a few of the shallower cuts glistening with fresh blood, he took out their bottle of iodine.

“I have to disinfect your wounds”, he told him. “If I were a doctor, I'd tell you it might sting a bit. Since I'm not, I'll tell you it will hurt like hell but it's still better than risking an infection.”

Big worried eyes looked up at him, pulling at his heartstrings. Kid still didn't pull back, though. Taking it as a good sign, Hosea unscrewed the bottle and poured iodine over the worst parts, wincing internally when the boy flinched.

“You're doing great, son. Almost done.”

Wrapping the bandages tight he could see the boy blinking away tears. By the time he was done, whatever strength the boy had had left, was gone. He was staring at a spot somewhere above Hosea's collarbone with glassy eyes.

He gave Dutch a look, motioning towards their blankets. Taking the cue his partner brought one over, also grabbing a pillow on the way, thankfully understanding the silent request.

“I'd like to take a quick look at your ankle next. Make sure nothing's broken,” he told the boy. “You can lie down if you want to. It would make things easier.”

The boy looked at him, blinking slowly. Nodding he eased himself down, stopping in surprise when his back touched the pillow, Dutch had left behind him, apparently being too far gone already to notice Dutch's approach. He adjusted his position so that he could rest his head on the pillow.

Gently probing the boy's ankle Hosea was glad when he couldn't feel any broken bones. It was most likely sprained. Painful but after a few days of rest, it should be alright. He still wrapped a bandage around it to stabilize the limb.

Leaning back on his heels he gave the boy a once over. He was sure there were other injuries hidden beneath the clothes but he didn't want to ask too much of the kid.

“That should do the trick, son”, he said instead.

“Arthur.”

He stopped. “Your name's Arthur?”, he asked helpless against the smile that split his face.

The boy nodded.

“Thank you for letting me help you, Arthur.” He grabbed the blanket Dutch had brought, noting that it was their thickest, and held it out to Arthur. “You can have this blanket. Nights are getting cold.”

Another nod of acknowledgment before the blanket was taken. Hosea sat back down next to Dutch, pleased to see Arthur wrap himself in the blanket, movements slow and clumsy. Kid was probably asleep as soon as he closed his eyes.

For the next ten minutes they sat in silence watching Arthur, not wanting to risk waking him.

“Hell of a day, huh?”, Dutch whispered.

“Understatement. What do you think happened to him?”

“Nothing good I'd say. If we hadn't been here – Jesus – that brute would've killed him.”

Hosea nodded grimly. “You should've seen those cuts on his arms. Who does that to a child!”, he all but shouted, both men freezing and looking over to the thankfully unmoving blanket.

“What are we going to do now?” Dutch asked. “Do you think the kid has family or folks that can take him?”

“His name's Arthur.”

“He told you?”

“Yeah.”

“So do you think Arthur has some place to stay?”

“I don't know.” Hosea shrugged. “I mean, look at him. If he has family I certainly won't take him back there.”

“No, I suppose not”, Dutch rubbed a hand over his face. “I guess I'd better go and hide the body. No point in risking someone finding him while we're here.”

“I'll help you.”

Dutch shook his head. “No, stay with the boy. If he wakes up you should be here. You're better with children anyway.”

Hosea didn't look happy but stayed. “Just be careful in case the bastard had friends”, he added. darkly

Dutch nodded and started toward where they had left the man, stopping when an idea struck him. Veering off to where he had tied their horses he grabbed his lantern, not bothering to light it just yet. He certainly wasn't stupid enough to go running around with a light while disposing of a dead body.

Finding the body after a bit of stumbling around in the dark, his eyes needing some time to adjust, he searched it for anything useful. He found a pocket watch, that might be actually valuable – he'd have to check later – and a few spare coins before grabbing the arms and dragging the man over and into some bushes. Not the best place to hide a body but they weren't going to stay long anyway.

Either they would deliver the kid to whatever relatives he had or they would take him with them until they figured something out. None of it involved sticking around. Heading back to the road he lit his lantern to get a better look at the ground. Both the man and Arthur had come from somewhere in the forest.

He was just going to take a quick peek, see if there were folks in the immediate vicinity they'd have to worry about. Following the tracks he was already thinking about their next steps. They needed clothes for Arthur, a proper bedroll and the kid could really use a haircut.

He supposed they could head back into Roseberry but given the amount of feathers they'd ruffled, he'd rather avoid the town for a while. A thought at the back of his mind clamored for his attention. He remembered seeing a kid in Roseberry. Was that Arthur? The size seemed about right. The hair, too.

The sound of snapping leaves brought his train of thought to a screeching halt. Grabbing his gun he lifted the lantern, peering into the darkness. There, to his right. Something was moving there. He cocked his gun, took a deep breath and stepped around the tree blocking his sight, ready to shoot whoever was dumb enough to mess with him.

Wide brown eyes stared at him, a horse snorting and dancing away from him nervously. No rider in sight. Dutch could think of only one reason why a horse would be out here all alone and that one was hidden behind some bushes.

“Hey there”, he greeted the animal, gently rubbing its neck and taking a closer look at it. The horse didn't have any gear besides a saddle. He frowned. No saddle bags, no sleeping bag, no nothing meant its rider either had planned to return home in the evening, unlikely, or had traveled in a group and had stored the additional gear somewhere else. Fantastic. The fellow they'd killed hadn't been alone.

He'd better get back to Hosea, make sure leave at sunrise at the very least. Or earlier if the boy woke up before that. He briefly considered relieving the horse of its tack and releasing it into the wild but thought better of it. He didn't want it wandering back home and raising alarm. And they might need a third horse anyway. If Arthur wanted to stay with them.

Taking the reins Dutch led the animal back toward their camp.

* * *

Voices were drifting around him, jumbled, meaningless words floating through fog. He should probably care, should probably wake up before someone could sneak up on him, but he was warm and tired and burrowed deeper into the blanket until the voices faded away.

The next time Arthur came to, there were no voices. He also felt somewhat alive again, albeit disoriented. He wasn't sure where he was and how he got here. There was a small fire in front of him, still burning despite the sun already being up.

He tried to figure how late it was when he spotted the man on the other side of the fire. It was the dark haired one, Dutch, he remembered. Pressing his body back against the ground, he tried to be as still as possible. He didn't know what to do. Didn't know what the men were planning to do, either.

“You don't have to pretend to be asleep.”

Arthur twisted around, heart already hammering in his chest, trying to get to his feet, only managing to tangle himself in the blanket.

“Sorry! I'm sorry! I-”, he stammered, hoping to gauge how angry the man was having caught him in a lie, while extracting himself from his blanket.

“Easy son, it's okay. You're okay.” Hosea crouched down to his level, helping him. “You hungry?”

Arthur shook his head. The vestiges of sleep were being chased away by cold reality. The way dread was gnawing at his insides, he wouldn't be able to keep anything down anyway. He stared at his hands. The two men had been kind him last night but everything had its price. He didn't want see when they realized, he was just an orphan with no family to reward them, no skills of his own to repay them. Didn't want to see the contempt in their eyes when they realized they had wasted their time and money.

“Dutch and I been wondering-”, Hosea paused shifting his weight slightly, possibly to get a better look at Arthur's face but he resolutely kept his gaze down “Do you have family somewhere? Anywhere you want us to take you?”

His heart sank. There it was. He shook his head, unable to keep from flinching when he heard steps behind him.

“Do you want to come with us then?”

His eyes snapped up to Hosea, searching the man's face, opening his mouth and closing it again, not knowing what to say. Too confused to be able to answer.

“You don't have to if you don't want to”, Dutch chimed in. “But I can promise you we'll keep you safe. Because we take care of each other.”

Arthur looked back and forth between Dutch and Hosea. He wanted to say yes, he wanted to have a place he belonged to so bad he could taste it.

“So what do you say?”, Hosea asked holding out his hand for Arthur. “Do you want to join us?”

Both men were smiling down at him warmly, invitingly. He took a deep breath.

“Yes.” He grasped Hosea's hand, letting the man pull him to his feet while Dutch gave him a pat on his back laughing.

“Alright then, let's get going”, Dutch proclaimed. “We need to get Arthur some new clothes. Can't have one of us running around in rags.”

Looking around Arthur noticed his pillow and blanket were the only things left of their little camp, Dutch already dosing their fire. Realizing with a jolt that he was the only one not packed and ready to go, he tried to fold his blanket as fast as he could, only succeeding in making a mess of it, until Hosea took over and had it stowed away within seconds.

Dutch was already rattling off things they'd have to get, making plans of what to do next, the rapid staccato of words making Arthur's head spin. When Dutch brought over their horses Arthur was confused why there was a third horse tied to one of the others. He looked around for a third man he had missed in dazed state last night but couldn't find one.

Hosea must've noticed his confusion. “Dutch found her wandering the forest last night. Seemed cruel to just leave her to her fate.”

He studied the horse, wondering why someone would abandon their horse, when a thought struck him. They wanted to get him clothes.

“We can't go back!”, he interrupted Dutch. “I – there's some people and I-” He didn't know how to continue. Didn't know how to tell them that he had killed a man and gotten another one killed through his actions and now there were people that wanted him dead.

“You mean, because our unpleasant acquaintance form yesterday wasn't alone?” Dutch asked, sound unsurprised. “We figured. But you see, that's the beauty of this country, son. If you just go far enough, your troubles will never catch you.”

Hosea squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “Come on, you can ride with me.” Neither man seemed particularly worried.

Hosea mounted his horse, offered Arthur a hand and pulled him. Holding on to Hosea's jacket while the two men kicked their horses into an easy trot Arthur took a deep breath. He didn't know what as going to happen now, had no idea what his new life going to look like but he figured it couldn't be worse than the previous one.

Hosea looked back over his shoulder, saying if he needed anything, he could always tell him. Maybe, just maybe, his new life might even be better than the last one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello wonderful person reading this :D Thanks for sticking with me  
> this was fun to write :) I might even write some more - the plotbunnies demand at least another oneshot or two and there's not nearly enough stories about young Arthur anyway

**Author's Note:**

> Never thought I'd get back into writing but then RDR happened  
> I've got the first draft finished so hopefully I'll be able to post chapters in a timely manner  
> thanks for reading ♥


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